


least i could do

by budd



Series: i'm taking my journal to the bathroom [1]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Boys In Love, Canon Compliant, Domestic Boyfriends, Fluff, Height Differences, M/M, Neck Kissing, One Shot, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:20:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28098300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/budd/pseuds/budd
Summary: David comes home to a pouty Patrick, upset that he can't reach the microwave to reheat his leftovers from the take-out they ordered the night before.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: i'm taking my journal to the bathroom [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2144166
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41





	least i could do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [davidrxses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/davidrxses/gifts), [MmmEatGlass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MmmEatGlass/gifts).



> A very special thank you to T for this prompt as well as Paige for asking someone to write this. I am like... seven days late, but I hope this is still acceptable despite the fact that I put this on the back burner and wrote three other fics in between as the procrastinator that I tend to be. Take this as my present to you this holiday season <3
> 
> Also, yes, the height difference is dramatized a bit here, but that's alright.

Patrick reluctantly pauses the TV at the groan of his stomach. He'd been indulging himself in _The Sandlot_ —his guilty pleasure film—after coming home from work and immediately flopping himself into his bed. Tonight was David's turn to close at the Apothecary, so he was able to head back to his apartment earlier than usual. It wasn't frequently that David closed, but he offered to today since he refused to for the last two and a half weeks. Patrick would've been a fool to not take him up on his gesture. He reluctantly pushes his laptop off himself, finding just enough strength in his legs to carry his weight to the kitchen where he begins to frantically scour through his cabinets, but not before his abdomen lets out a grumble lower and louder than before, pulsing at his gut without a single glint of relentlessness.

 _I really need to go to the store_ , Patrick thinks, the only non-ingredient he can find being a half-opened stale carton of Xtra Cheddar Flavor Blasted Goldfish he has zero recollection of purchasing. He picks up the nearly full box by the base, dumping it into the trash can without a second thought, the contents flowing over the box's sides. As he turns back around, he catches a glimpse of his refrigerator out of the corner of his eye, quickly remembering the Fettuccine Alfredo they ordered last night from a new steakhouse in Elmdale. David being the picky person that he is decided that "the sauce to pasta ratio was less than ideal, and the baked mozzarella didn't have the optimal stretch." Because of this, he _barely_ touched his serving, leaving extra for Patrick to consume later. What better time is there than now?

Grabbing the handle, Patrick swings the door to the fridge open, revealing a sad selection of rotting leftovers—the only fresh ones from the previous day, of course—and an array of most likely expired beers. He was too nervous to actually check the date on them, so letting them continue to marinate was ultimately the choice he made, even if it wasn't the morally correct option. He takes out the pasta along with two milk cartons, one David must've put back in after drinking the last swig, and another with only a shot glass worth tasted that also happened to be expiring in a day. Shrugging, Patrick chucks the empty milk across the room into the trash—SCORE! He sets the seemingly frozen pasta and on-the-verge-of-being-brand-new-but-also-probably-spoiled jug onto the counter, shutting the refrigerator closed behind him with his foot.

He pours just the smallest splash of milk into the ceramic holder containing the Fettuccine. In addition, he grabs the stick of butter from the counter—he always has one already at room temperature—and cuts off a sizable piece with a knife he grabbed from the silverware drawer underneath him. Throwing the used knife into the sink (he did not like to walk when it wasn't 100% necessary), he caps off the milk, returning it back to its spot inside the refrigerator door. Finally, he adds the glass lid back on top of the now prepared noodles.

Patrick reaches up, outstretching upwards as far as he can with the container in his hands. He tried standing his tippy-toes, as well, continuing to lack luck. He tried a combination of both, which raised his anxiety as he was horrified he'd drop it and it'd shatter on the ground, something he has in fact done before in this _exact_ same situation, a prime example of why he needed David around 24/7. Patrick sets the leftovers on the counter where he had prepared it and lightly stomps his foot. Patrick crosses his arms and puffs out his lower lip, too. As if on cue, his belly rumbles at the sound of a knock on the door.

Too upset to check who's there before letting them in, he calls _it's open_ from the other side, bracing himself for a serial killer, however, he's met with David instead. "Oh, thank god you're here!" Patrick exclaims, David pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek, wrapping himself around his waist, pecking his neck repeatedly before Patrick peels his arms off him. David's face immediately turns to concern, worried that he overstepped even though Patrick had expressed an excessively enthusiastic response to his arrival. "You're okay, I just... need help."

David steps back, putting his hands on his hips to analyse Patrick. He's clearly upset about something, but David can't distinguish just _what_ he's upset about until Patrick points towards the white vessel he'd set down out of frustration without moving his eyes, a stone-faced expression settled into his face. David can't help giggling at a pouty Patrick. As cute as he was—and as much as he wanted to engulf himself back in his embrace—he had _very_ convincing puppy dog eyes. David reaches both of his arms around Patrick, grabbing the pasta sitting in front of him, shimmying against his back. He lifts the bowl above his head, opening the microwave and popping the food inside suit. He adds 1:40 to the clock, shutting the door before returning to his boyfriend. He lets his hands fall to Patrick's neck, clasping his hands at the nape, letting his fingers graze the tiny hairs. Goosebumps make their way up Patrick's spine at the minuscule movements. David notices the shivering convulsions his body is making, dropping his face down the crevasse of Patrick's shoulders, pecking repeatedly as a fit laughter emits itself from both of their mouths, David's muffled, of course, the shivering sensation returning to Patrick. They're quickly cut off by the sound of the microwave, Patrick groaning at the loss of David. "I'll get the meal, you get the fork." Patrick nods, grabbing the aforementioned utensil. Normally, Patrick would transfer the leftovers to a bowl, but he just wanted to spend time with David and that'd put more time in between the two of them being able to "spend time" together. 

Leading them over to the couch, David pops down against the armrest, patting the space next to his crossed legs, Patrick fitting perfectly. David grabs a noodle with his bare fingers, popping it into his mouth. He coughs almost instantaneously, forgetting about the horrid taste. Was _horrid_ a dramatic description? Yes, but David didn't care as it was the only word he could think of. He was still used to perfection, $100 worth of picturesque plates, not whatever Cafè Tropical and Elmdale has to offer. Patrick grins, connecting his lips with David's. "Thank you for helping me."

"Of course, it's the least I could do for my... petite partner," David wraps his arm around Patrick's shoulders, watching Patrick intently as he takes a bite off his fork, the way his lips twirl around the medal, the way his Adam's apple bobs down and then back up again. "How about you finish up and we can..." He walks his fingers across his neck. 

"I think I can work with that." 


End file.
